Chapter 17. The Quarry Pact

The quarry didn’t just breathe. It waited to devour.

Engines idled low, growling in the night. Headlights cut through the dust, beams carving halos into the dark. The smell of gasoline, sweat, and smoke thickened the air until it clung to Riven’s throat.

From their crouch above the ridge, she could see the Wolves gathered in a rough circle, bikes lined like teeth. Floodlights swung from makeshift poles, throwing jagged shadows across leather vests.

And at the center—Magnus.

Riven’s chest locked. Even at this distance, his presence coiled through the crowd, pulling every eye, commanding every silence.

Axel’s hand brushed hers in the dirt. “Stay low. Don’t move until I say.”

She nodded, though her pulse thundered too loud for words.

They slid down the ridge, gravel crunching under their boots, until they reached the cover of stacked crates at the edge of the lot. The wood was warped, reeking of oil. Riven pressed against it, breath shallow.